


Spectral Theorem

by sksdwrld



Series: Planck Constant [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, M/M, Master/Slave, Oral Sex, Sex, slave - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:44:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksdwrld/pseuds/sksdwrld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spectral Theorem: any number of results about linear operators or matrices. In broad terms, spectral theorem provides conditions under which an operator or matrix can be diagonalized.</p><p>OR</p><p>Joe spends a week with his family, forcing both Micah and himself far outside of their comfort zones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Through the open windows, Micah could hear Joe clomping up the stairs. As he neared, Micah could hear him talking and when Joe pushed into the apartment, realized that he was on his phone. Throughout the day, Joe often took calls pertaining to his business but none of them had ever affected that particularly perturbed look.

 

When Joe went into the bedroom, Micah resisted the urge to follow him, instead  continuing to scrub the pan from yesterday's botched au gratin dish that had burned while Joe lazily fucked him over the kitchen table. Micah had left the pan soaking overnight and was still working up a sweat removing the caked-on starch and cheese.

 

It was only a few minutes before Joe returned, carelessly tossing his phone on the countertop and shoveling a hand through his hair. As he sighed, his shoulders slumped defeatedly. Micah glanced at him briefly and couldn't keep his eyebrows from drawing together. "Troubles with the shop?"

 

Joe shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. "Fucking Tanner."

 

"Tanner?" Micah rinsed the soap out of the pan and inspected it. Satisfied, he reached for the towel and began to dry it.

 

"My half-brother," Joe explained. "He's been accepted as partner at a prestigious law firm and gotten engaged, all in the span of a week. My father is throwing him a party to celebrate and wants me to be there."

 

"Forgive me Sir, but you don't seem happy for him," Micah observed, looking up from the pan in order to better gauge Joe's reaction.

 

 Joe snorted and rolled his eyes. "Tanner's always been a condescending little shit. This is just one more notch on his belt and I could really fucking care less about it."

 

Micah didn't know what to say to that but as he reached for the cabinet handle so that he could put the pan away, hazarded a guess. "You don't want to go, but for some reason, you have to."

 

"Aside from the fact that it's family?" Joe snorted again. "Yeah. My father is sort of a silent-partner in my shop.  Running the shop keeps me out of his hair most of the time but sends me running when he has need for me. I tried to buy him out when I got the inheritance but he wouldn't sell. It's too convenient for him."

 

"Does he live far from here?" Micah turned toward the refrigerator to flip the bag of marinating chicken over.

 

"In Jackson." Joe replied.

 

Micah froze with his hand on the refrigerator door handle. He wasn't a learned man, but he knew from Willard's art dealings that it was several hours away by car or train and a couple, if one were to fly. Knowing that Joe preferred the quickest route to places and that it wasn't cost-effective to transport a slave by plane, he came to a quick conclusion. "How long will you be boarding me for?"

 

Willard had boarded Micah once, for two weeks while he'd gone to an art show. To say that it had been unpleasant was an understatement. It was worse than the holding facility, where he’d been afforded a cot and a cell at the very least.  The boarding facility provided minimal comforts: he'd been held in a small, padded cubicle that allowed him to sit or lay with his knees drawn up.

 

He and the other slaves were fed gruel or dry, tasteless nutritional bars twice a day and watered three times. They were allowed out for exercise in the morning and in the evening after meals but we're discouraged from interacting with one another. Being young and excitable, he'd learned the hard way that chatterboxes were muzzled and spent most of the time with leather straps crisscrossing his face and holding his jaw shut. Needless to say, it wasn't something he wanted to relive, but he doubted that Joe would spare the expense, regardless of how lenient or affectionate he seemed.

 

"You're kidding me, right?" Joe said behind him.

 

Micah only swallowed.

 

"C'mere, Sweetheart." Joe sighed, holding out his arms. 

 

Micah turned and pushed himself against Joe's side, tucking his face into the crook of Joe's neck, where it seemed made to fit. Joe's arms wrapped around him tightly and Joe kissed his temple. It was only then, in the secure cocoon of Joe's embrace, that Micah noticed the heavy thump of his heart in his chest.

 

"I'm not putting you in one of those fucking places," Joe murmured. "For the last time, you're not a god damn dog and I refuse to treat you like one. Besides, if I have to put up with those people for a week, I'm gonna need you for stress-relief."

 

Micah could hear the smile as it came onto Joe's face and Joe's right hand wandered down to squeeze Micah's left buttock. He wondered if Joe was in need of a little stress relief right now. In response, he let his tongue flicker along the salty skin of Joe's neck. Joe's resultant sigh made Micah bolder and folded his lips over his teeth before nipping him.

 

Joe's breath caught in his throat and he cupped Micah's face, drawing it up, planting a kiss on his lips. "I don't have time right now, I have to get back to work, especially now that I'm not going to be able to take any clients next week."

 

Micah smiled knowingly and slid down to his knees, nuzzling his face into Joe's groin. Joe laughed in astonishment and fisted Micah's hair, holding him in place as he rolled his hips.

 

"My God, I've created a monster..." After a moment, he released Micah's hair and bent, tugging him back to his feet. He smoothed Micah's hair back, thumbed his cheekbone, and then pressed their mouths together. "Not that I'm not tempted, but I really have to get some shit done today..."

 

Micah did his best not to frown. "You won't be wanting lunch, then?"

 

Joe looked over him and smirked. "Early dinner. Nothing too heavy either because I've got plans for dessert." He scrubbed his mouth across his forearm, pushed his hair out of his face, and waited for Micah's nod of acknowledgement.

 

"Yes Sir," Micah breathed, wanting to reach after Joe as he stepped away but forcing himself to remain where he'd been left. He couldn't help but smile in return to the wanting look that Joe passed over his shoulder before tugging the door open.

 

"You fucking cock-tease," Joe chuckled and shook his head before pulling the door shut behind him.

 

As soon as he'd gone down the steps to the shop, Micah pressed the heel of his palm into his erection and muttered to himself, "The feeling is mutual Sir, the feeling is mutual."


	2. Chapter 2

It was strange to see Joe behind the wheel of a car. He had rented one for the trip because the things he'd waffles about bringing with him took up two suitcases and there was no way that Micah could carry them on the back of the motorcycle.

In many ways, Micah was grateful for the car and although riding on the back of the motorcycle often still frightened him, it meant that he wouldn't have any excuse to press up tightly to Joe and burrow his face against his back.

Joe carried both of the suitcases down the stairs despite Micah's protests and loaded them into the trunk of the car. Then, he went back upstairs and from the deck, Micah could hear him going from room to room, doing the final walkthrough before locking the front door behind him. He gestured toward the car and Micah stood beside the rear passenger door while Joe checked the shop for the fourth time.

"Get in the front," Joe said, jingling the keys as he passed. "I'm not a fucking chauffeur."

Micah winced at Joe's clipped tone and opened the passenger door, sliding onto the seat. After Joe got in, he reached across Micah and pulled a strap from the door and across Micah's chest. It buckled at his opposite hip and Micah swallowed, hating the feeling of it almost as much as the helmet. He tried to push down the desperate feeling that accompanied this strange restraint and rubbed his hands on his thighs to wick away the cold sweat that had broken out across his palms almost instantaneously.

Joe didn't seem to notice, seeming more concerned with the buttons and switches on the dashboard. Once he had flicked or pressed everything on and off, he put the car into gear and pulled out of the driveway. They exchanged glances though not words and Micah could tell already that Joe hated this. After a couple of minutes, Joe began to fiddle with the radio, settling on a station that played the same type of grating tunes that Micah sometimes heard wafting from the shop.

Micah sighed and turned his head, watching as the buildings gave way to the highway. Guardrails, trees and cars sped past faster and faster and before long, Micah's head was nodding. Without meaning to but hardly able to help himself, Micah fell asleep.

Suddenly, Joe swore and the car decelerated quickly. Micah's body lurched forward and as his eyes snapped open, his hands shot out to brace himself. But Joe's forearm had already collided with Micah's chest and pushed him back against the seat.

"Mother fucker cut me off, right out of fucking nowhere!" Joe pulled his arm away from Micah and shoveled his hair away from his face as he stepped on the gas again. Once they got back up to speed, Joe passed his hand over Micah's head to the back of his neck, giving it a light squeeze[k]. "Jesus Christ, if we'd been on the bike, we'd probably be dead, or hurtin' real bad. You alright, Sweetheart?"

Micah blinked, nodded, and rubbed his face.

"My mom used to do that, throw her arm out like the fucking seat belt wasn't gonna do it's job. I always thought she was silly, but I guess I didn't understand until I had somethin' to lose, huh?"

Micah's heart skipped a beat but he only passed Joe a small smile. "Do you ever visit your mother?"

"Ah, no..." Joe swallowed and his frown deepened. "She died, when I was fourteen. Pancreatic cancer. We had no idea until it was too late. There was nothing anyone could do..."

"I'm sorry," Micah replied softly as he considered what that meant for Joe. Then he did a quick calculation. "That was...about ten years ago?"

Joe nodded. "Why?"

"Willard held a funeral reception in his apartment at about that time, I wondered..."

"That's right, he did. I forgot. And you were there then?" Joe said, glancing over. Micah nodded and rubbed the pads of his fingers together as he tried to recall any teenaged boys that he might have come across. Joe sighed, "I'm sorry, I don't remember you."

"I wouldn't expect you to, Sir," Micah murmured. "But I don't remember you, either. So we're well matched. After that day, Willard stopped going out. Your mother was his sister? I think she took a piece of his heart with him when she left."

"He wasn't the only one..." Joe replied. His eyes went vacant for a moment but he shook himself back. His thumb started to play back and forth on the nape of Micah's neck. "But you know what it's like. You lost your whole family, didn't you?"

"That's different," Micah said with a shrug. Joe's thumb stilled.

"How is it different? Family is family, Micah."

"I was born a slave, I was always going to be a slave. Family means nothing when you could be sold at any moment. I was encouraged not to form attachments."

"I find that hard to believe, Micah. Who took care of you when you were a baby? You didn't get attached to them?"

Micah looked at Joe for a long moment. "I'm not lying. My mother was a breeder, and she was always pregnant. There were other breeders and dozens of children. The older ones care for the younger ones and we all learned what it means to serve from a young age. There were so many mothers and they all served the same purpose, it didn't matter which one you went to. If you were hurt, they'd bandage you and turn you out. If you were scared, they'd tell you to be brave and turn you out."

"That's fucking horrid!" Joe exclaimed.

"That's life," Micah said simply. "Out of all of us, the mothers could afford attachment the least. And there was no sense coddling us anyway. It would only be a disservice when we were sold."

"God, Micah, that is the biggest bag of horseshit. I mean it. I'm not sure I've heard something that fucked up in a while."

"When you don't have the power to change things, you just accept them and move on, if you want to live. And I've been lucky...between Willard and you..."

"You did not just lump me in with that psycho..." Joe interrupted.

"I'm sorry, but there are far worse men in the world, Joe. He wasn't nearly as wonderful as you have been, but he wasn't as bad as he could have been either, and I have to appreciate that." Micah turned his face against Joe's hand and Joe started to stroke him again.

"I don't know, Micah, I just don't know..."


	3. Chapter 3

They had been driving on the same road for some time but the tree-line slowly broke, giving way to staggered magnolias fencing a sprawling, manicured lawn. Joe applied the brakes and they slowed before turning down a driveway lined with glittering, white stones and potted flowers.  
Micah's jaw dropped at the ostentatious southern manor that swam into view, and counted four giant pillars propping up the extended roof. "This is where you grew up?"

"Nah, I grew up in a shit-apartment not much bigger than the one we've got now. This is just where I lived for a few years until I came of age, as they say." Joe wiped his hand over his face. "Pretentious as fuck, isn't?"

"How many slaves?" Micah stammered instead of agreeing. He'd been the only slave of the household with Willard, and of course Joe, but a place like this would require much more than that.

"I dunno, thirty?" Joe guessed, blowing past the valet that stepped out, trying to flag him down as he drove around the back of the house. "Why?"

"Thirty," Micah echoed in awe. A wave of trepidation crashed over him and he swallowed thickly. Slave politics were a complicated business and he'd been glad to be free of them but now his brain was grinding gears as everything he'd ever known tried to surface at once.

"You okay? You look funny all of a sudden." Joe commented as he put the car in park.

Micah nodded and shrugged his white leather jacket back on, suddenly feeling under scrutiny. As Joe opened his door and began to step out, Micah rocketed into action. He climbed out and went around to the rear of the car. "I got it," Joe said as he popped open the trunk and reached inside for the bags.

"Joe, please," Micah whispered urgently. "You have to let me do my job. You can't just attend to your own things when I'm standing here doing nothing. How will it look?"

Joe paused and slated Micah a curious glance. "Do you think I give a fuck what these people think of me?"

Micah's lips flattened and he defiantly reached into the trunk, hauling out the suitcase nearer to himself. it was barely balanced when he grabbed the second one straight from Joe's hands.

Joe chuckled and shrugged. "Suit yourself, Micah. And for the record, you're the only person I know who is simultaneously completely defiant and perfectly compliant..."

Micah would have rolled his eyes, had they been anywhere but here and it was clear to him that Joe hadn't truly known any other slaves, because toeing the line was a game that many played not only behind their master's backs but in front of their faces as well. Instead, he angled his head toward the ground and said softly, "You must realize that my actions will reflect on you, Sir..."

Joe shook his head as he pushed the trunk shut and then took Micah's chin between his finger and thumb, tipping his face up and kissing him softly. "I don't care."

Blinking back tears, Micah clutched the suitcases to himself. "Sir, please!"

Sighing, Joe shook his head and then led the way. He climbed the steps to the back door, turning back toward Micah who was struggling with the luggage but managed just fine on his own. Joe pushed open the door without knocking and held the door open for Micah.

Before Micah had the opportunity to flush, a softly bemused voice said, "A pleasure to see you again, Master Joseph." Glancing discreetly up, Micah was surprised to find the voice belonged to a trim but aging man with grey hair and blue eyes. He wore a simple cream-colored tunic and cropped pants that, if Micah was not mistaken, marked him as the top-ranked house-slave.

"Cobb!" Joe laughed as he slapped the slave on the back, then followed up with a vigorous but clearly familiar rub."I see you haven't goaded my father into making good on his promise to retire you..."

Micah flinched at the implication. Aging pleasure slaves were retired to households if they were lucky, but slaves incapable of performing useful chores had no function at all and were often sold at steep discounts to pharmaceutical companies for drug testing. It was not a fate anyone looked forward to, although Micah was sure that it was better on some level than being worked to death in a factory or mine.

But Cobb didn't seem phased and only chuckled quietly. "The only retiring your father does is to the bedroom after a long day."

"I believe it," Joe murmured with amusement. "He's not around, by any chance, is he?"

"The Master was alerted to the arrival of a guest and went to the front entryway in anticipation. I expect he'll return when he realizes you're up to your usual shenanigans, Sir." 

Joe snorted softly. "I refuse to be treated like a business associate. This was my home for five years, Cobb."

"Of course, Master Joseph." Cobb agreed.

Throughout this exchange, Micah stood just inside of the door with his gaze respectfully lowered. Joe hadn't seen fit to introduce him yet, and etiquette therefore called for him to both ignore his surroundings and be ignored, although he had already met Cobb's inquisitive glance with one of his own. He also found that he was slightly jealous of Joe's easy exchange with Cobb, of whom he seemed fond.

"Joey-boy!" A booming voice echoed. Something about the tone made Micah want to squirm although he remained motionless, save the fluttering of his eyelashes as he tried to surreptitiously peek from beneath them.

An older man with a full head of neatly styled white hair approached Joe and assessed him at arms length, giving his biceps an affectionate squeeze. His eyes were the same shade of blue and Joe's, and their jaw lines nearly identical. They were of approximate heights but where Joe was tall and sturdy, this man was of a more delicate frame.

"Dad," Joe replied, clapping him on the shoulder before stepping back toward Micah.

Joe's father noticed Micah then and came around to see him better. "I didn't realize you were bringing someone...oh. This yours?" He seemed surprised at first but then laughed. "Of course he is. I'd forgotten about Willard's inheritance...surprised you kept him." A hand moved toward Micah's face but Joe intercepted it and pushed it away.

"Micah, I'd like you to meet my father, Richard Sinclair." Joe's voice was cool and a quick glance told Micah that he was displeased. Joe and his father were silently exchanging meaningful looks.

Micah cleared his throat and bowed slightly. "Master Sinclair."

"Pretty little thing, isn't he?" Richard said. "Even as old as he is. What's his lineage?"

"Fuck if I know. What does it matter?" Joe huffed.

Richard's lips thinned. "You know, you've been here for less than ten minutes, and already I'm not fond of your attitude."

"I'd be happy to leave," Joe responded, folding his arms over his chest.

"Cobb," Richard said, his eyes unwavering from Joe's. "Show my son's slave where to put the bags and give him the tour-"

"I can do it myself," Joe scowled.

Richard ignored Joe's rebuttal and locked an arm around his shoulders, steering him away. "I'm glad you're home, Joey. Let me pour you a drink, we can get caught up on the business end of things until Tanner makes himself available."

Joe shrugged off his father's arm but followed him out nevertheless, shooting Micah a lingering but unreadable expression before disappearing around the corner.

When they were gone, Cobb turned to Micah and beckoned toward a narrow stairwell tucked into the wall. "Come along then, Micah. We'll be able to speak in a moment."


	4. Chapter 4

Micah followed Cobb to the top of the staircase and down a long hallway. Cobb did not hesitate before pushing open a door and gesturing for Micah to go through it. The latch clicked softly and Micah set the suitcases on the floor as he glanced around.

The bedroom had high ceilings and a large, ornate fan that was already cutting the air in lazy circles. The walls were soft cream and the bedspread and pillow shams had diamonds in sage and buttercup that complimented the curtains. 

There was a wardrobe in one corner and a dresser opposite the foot of the bed, which had short spindled posts in each of the four corners. 

"Micah, is it?" Cobb said with a raised eyebrow. Some masters were known to change the names of their slaves on a whim, although that hadn't been true in Micah's case. He suspected that Cobb was inquiring whether there was something else Micah preferred to be called. 

"Yes," Micah replied carefully. "And you're Cobb?" 

"That I am. This is Master Joseph's old room, he should be relatively comfortable here. Would you like me to help you unpack?" 

Please," Micah replied politely, although he certainly didn't require assistance. He lifted one of the suitcases to the mattress and unzipped it as Cobb followed suit. 

"I must admit you are a curiosity," Cobb said with a quick glance. He watched as Micah carried a stack of nearly folded, plaid boxer shorts to the dresser. Micah didn't know how to respond to that, so he didn't. "I don't mean to cause any offense...it's only that Master Joseph has always been... particular about slaves-" 

"In that he didn't want any?" Micah asked, laying Joe's tube socks in beside the underwear. He quickly placed Joe's shirts and jeans in the subsequent drawers. 

"Yes," Cobb dug through the suitcase before him, which was filled with Micah's clothes. He set aside a green, cotton t-shirt and a soft flannel before zipping the lid shut again, leaving Micah's traditional garb inside. "Some of your master's things seem to have gotten mixed in with yours," Cobb said. Micah did not miss his pointed tone. Cobb must have realized that they were too small to fit Joe. 

"You are very lucky to be this well provided for." Cobb's fingers first slid over the suitcase and then he reached out, gently stroking the lapel of Micah's jacket. "We will take these things down to the quarters with us. On the way, we will take Master Joseph's suit to the laundry. It will need to be pressed." 

A sick feeling blossomed in Micah's chest and his head snapped up. "He hasn't a suit. I would have seen it. I mean, I must have missed it. I didn't pack it. I'm very thoughtless. I-"

One corner of Cobb's mouth turned up and he gripped Micah's shoulder; a comforting gesture that seemed familiar. Then he went to the wardrobe and removed a garment bag. "Master Sinclair insists on keeping one here, with good reason, I expect. And there's nothing else that needs pressing, if I know Master Joseph. Come along if you've finished." 

Micah stored the empty suitcase beneath the bed and as he followed Cobb back down the hallway to the narrow staircase, took note of appropriate landmarks in order to make his way back. 

The laundry was below the main floor and staffed by two robust women who assured Micah that Joe's things would be well taken care of. Then, Cobb showed him to 'The Quarters', which took up the rest of the floor. To Micah's dismay, there was a communal shower room with three free-standing toilets and a large, basin-sink. A small ante-room with a round table and various chairs and crates preceded the bunk room, which was well-suited to its name. By Micah's estimate, there were forty small beds, not much better than cots. Each one had a brown woolen blanket folded at the foot and only a handful had thin, lumpy pillows. 

Cobb walked to the end of the row and gestured to one cot. "You can use this one while you're here." 

Micah swallowed and nodded as he shoved his suitcase underneath it. He wanted to tell Cobb that he didn't need it, that he would keep Joe's bed warm, that never had a master provided him with such meager accommodations. Instead, he said nothing and tried to appear grateful. 

Cobb took him to sit at the table and offered him fruit and bread from a basket in the corner.Micah mirrored Cobb by taking an apple and polished it on his shirt for a long while. Just as he was about to take a bite, Cobb spoke. 

"Would you tell me how you came to be with your master?" 

"Joe?" Micah said in surprise.

"Have you had many?" Cobb returned.

I was bequeathed when his uncle, my former master, passed away." Micah put the apple on the table and turned it. 

"You are lucky," Cobb said again, biting into his own and chewing thoughtfully.

"Are you not?" Micah asked.

"I am, but some are luckier than others," Cobb said, acknowledging another slave with a wave as he entered and went straight into the bathroom. "What do you know of this place?" 

"Nothing," Micah said with a shake of his head.

"Best to keep it that way. This week will pass soon enough. You just steer clear of Ellis and you shouldn't have any problems." 

Micah lifted the apple but paused with it halfway to his mouth. "Who?" 

"Ellis," a rich, smooth voice said behind Micah, who flinched as the apple was snatched out of his hand and crisply bitten into. "That's me. Who are you?"


	5. Chapter 5

Micah looked over his shoulder then slowly turned, taking in the tall, dark skinned young man who was eying him intently while crunching his way through the apple. Ellis had a lean but muscular build and dark, knappy hair shorn close to his scalp. The whites of his eyes seemed stark in comparison to his skin and were offset by the white linen jacket, shirt, and pants he wore. His teeth seemed to similarly flash each time his mouth opened. Ellis had sharply defined cheekbones, a pointy chin, and his nose, though broad, was well suited to his face. In short, he was beautiful.

After a moment, Micah cleared his throat and lifted his chin, feigning an air of confidence that he didn't feel. "I'm Micah."

Ellis snorted and rolled his eyes. "I don't want your name, I want to know who you belong to. And," he tacked on, almost as an afterthought, "Why you should stay away from me."

Cobb cleared his throat, drawing both Ellis and Micah's attention. His lips were pressed thin and there was a reluctance about his face. "He's Master Joe's boy."

A sneer curled Ellis' lip and his head whipped back towards Micah. "You're old..." His eyes narrowed as quickly as Micah's eyebrows raised. "You're _ugly_..."

Micah managed an indignant blink and his mouth opened but there was nothing to say. Ellis was right on both counts, but it didn't make it any less offensive to be pointed out by someone of equal station.

 

"Ellis..." Cobb sighed. "If you're lucky enough for Master Tanner to keep you around, one day you'll be old and ugly too."

"Lucky enough?" Ellis whirled on Cobb, planting wide hands in the middle of the table as he leaned over it, paying no mind to Micah, who had to duck out of the way. "This household is going to be mine. Tanner won't be able to afford to lose me."

"That's assuming that you don't run it into the ground," Cobb said smoothly. "You think alliances will just shift? That you can go on bullying people and expect them to listen to you? I told you, Ellis, for the sake of the household, if nothing else, you must learn to be diplomatic and fair."

"Your time is coming to an end, old man. You'll be lucky if Richard doesn't retire _you_ when you no longer have a purpose to serve..." The threat hung in the air and was punctuated by Ellis' fingertip, but Cobb only laughed.

"A smart slave makes himself indispensable, Ellis. The Master has other needs that I tend to that could have been taken over by someone else years ago, and yet, he keeps me. Why do you think that is?" Cobb stood up, straightening the cream colored linens he wore. Ellis only glared at him. "Besides, I'm too old now for the pharmaceutical companies to test anything on me other than erectile dysfunction treatments and if that's the fate I must suffer, then so be it. I'll take an injected death any day over dehydration, sun stroke and exhaustion on the work crew, which you're still young enough to face, I might add. All that hot-headed energy of yours would be well suited to that line, I imagine. Although it's possible that Tanner cares enough about you that he'd send you off to be a petri dish for the latest vaccine development..."

Growling, Ellis shoved the table aside, sending it sliding into the wall. Cobb didn't so much as flinch but Micah cowered in his chair. Ellis jabbed his finger into Cobb's collarbone and brought their faces close together. "You're going to be sorry you talked to me like that Cobb, just you wait.  And you..." Ellis turned back, depositing the half-eaten apple into Micah's hand and then knocking into his shoulder as he passed. "Mind your elders and stay out of my way or we are going to have problems."

Micah's mouth hung open until after Ellis had gone but he stood up, going to help Cobb move the table back into place. "What just happened?"

Cobb straightened, shook his head and sighed. "You're not Master Joseph's first slave...Ellis was."


	6. Chapter 6

Micah accompanied Cobb as the head slave performed his usual tasks and as the day wore on, he met more and more of the household slaves. He couldn't be expected to recall all of their names but he did try. Cobb was also quick to point out those that had made their alliances with Ellis; mostly the younger, less experienced slaves eager to ride the coattails of those they believed would rise to power.

The closest he made it to Joe was in the late afternoon when he and Cobb were in the garden, choosing flowers to adorn the table at dinner. In the far distance, Joe, his father, and a young man he learned was Tanner played croquet on the lawn. Joe wielded the mallet like a weapon in between turns, and Cobb only shook his head.

"They try and try to fit Master Joseph into their mold but he'll never go..."

"He's very stubborn," Micah agreed.

"He is," said Cobb. "But more than that. He's got a good heart. No head for empty rituals or pretentiousness."

 _Ain't got time for bullshit_. That's what Joe would say and as Micah imagined the sentiment in his master's voice, he couldn't help but smile. "You're right," he said. "You're right."

\--

Dinner that night was an informal affair and as such, Micah's presence was neither required nor requested as the usual kitchen staff were in attendance. By dark, Micah was on edge. "Maybe I should go to him..."

Cobb was sitting on a wooden crate in the slave quarters, mending a tunic by hand. At the table nearby, a few other slaves were taking turns pitching nutshells of various sizes into a cracked wooden bowl. "If he had need for you, you would be summoned. He's sparing himself the ritual he doesn't care for, Micah."

It made sense, it really did, but knowing that didn't do anything to alleviate the sense of discord in Micah. His guts were churning -he'd barely touched dinner and the only thing keeping him off the toilets was the fact that they weren't private.

"You should go lay down. Get some rest while you can. You never know what the morning, or even the late hours of the night will bring. I promise, if you're sought after, I'll get you."

As a guest, Micah had no rank to pull. Not that it would matter where Cobb was concerned. He simply nodded and returned to the cot again. Eyes closed, and with his hands tucked beneath his cheek, he tried to sleep but couldn't. Thoughts kept cropping in. Irrational, silly thoughts of Joe being offered another bedroom slave for the evening. Someone younger and prettier to warm his sheets with. Someone who could take care of his needs without Joe feeling the need to reciprocate after a long, tiresome day. Not that Micah had come to expect it. He didn't even let himself look forward to it too much lest it be interpreted that way. No, he would give himself selflessly and tirelessly to Joe and for reasons more than just dutiful devotion. He would do it because the act of pleasing his master made Micah feel happy and fulfilled.

Right now though, this sense of purposelessness, of being a slave without a master to serve, it was madness. What was Joe doing? Why hadn't he called for Micah to help him dress for dinner? To keep him company after dinner? To pull him off to sleep?

Once, Micah had reveled in the luxury of sleeping alone but no longer. He had grown too used to, too dependent on the comforting circle of Joe's strong arms. The way his knee tended to wedge between his thighs, keeping them apart. The sound of his heartbeat, strong and rhythmic.

In the wee hours of the night with nothing but the soft cadence of the other slaves collective breath, punctuated by soft snores and snorts, Micah fell into a fitful sleep, the worries of the day letting him drift along but not truly rest.

"Micah," a voice said softly, prompting him to bolt upright on the cot and look around, dazed. A short, dark haired woman named Maribell stood beside him. "Your Master is asking for you."

He was off the cot in an instant and shedding the tunic and pants he'd slept in. It took him only seconds to drag out the luggage from beneath his bed and pull out clean clothes. He felt like he'd over slept and had to compensate for lost time. "Thank you," he said but Maribel laid her hand on his arm and put a finger to her lips. Micah glanced around and found that many others were still asleep. It prompted him to lower his voice to a whisper. "How long ago? What time is it?"

"It's six thirty. He rang just a minute ago."

"Okay," Micah acknowledged her with a nod as he fastened the buttons of his top. "Thank you. Where is he?"

"In his room. Do you require assistance to make it?"

"No, thank you." Micah had replayed this moment in his head all night long and was certain that he had memorized the route. In his haste to get to his Master, he nearly forgot the house shoes that Cobb had given to him. He dashed back for them, passing a sheepish smile to the young woman before debarking once more. 

Micah sped through the corridors, his pace brisk and barely less than a run. He was slightly winded when he reached Joe's door but didn't compose himself before knocking. When the door opened, Micah fell to his knees and leaned over the threshold to kiss Joe's shoes and then bowed his head to the tops of his Master's feet.

"Oh Sweetheart," Joe sighed and helped him up. "I missed you too."


	7. Chapter 7

"I hate these fuckin' tunics," Joe grumbled into Micah's mouth as he yanked the slave garb up around his armpits. 

Micah lifted his arms in accommodation and ducked his way out of the garment, then pushed at his leggings, wriggling out of them as Joe pushed him back on the bed. He was used to them, even though Joe preferred him in t-shirts and soft sweats (Micah didn't care for the scratchy denim jeans that Joe liked best) and didn't think they took any longer to get out of.

Naked, Micah sprawled across the mattress, gladly submitting to Joe's demanding kisses and pulling at his clothes in turn. But Joe didn't bother to disrobe; he simply dragged Micah's legs up around his shoulders and unzipped his own jeans, freeing his cock through the fly. Joe spat in his hand and pushed his wet fingers into Micah, then spat again and slicked himself. It wasn't the most comfortable thing when Joe fucked into him, but Micah had suffered far worse and he wanted this intimacy too much to complain. 

Joe sucked at Micah's mouth and stole his breath away as he moved between his thighs, taking his own pleasure. But Joe's pleasure was Micah's pleasure and together, they grunted and groaned. As Joe's ecstasy built, his thrusts grew shorter and harder and the headboard smacked against the wall rhythmically. Micah twisted Joe's shirt in his hands, crying out softly when Joe suddenly stilled and pulsed inside of him, then pulled away. A mild sting was left in his wake but there was not much time to think on that as Joe slid down and sucked Micah's organ into his mouth.

"Ah, Joe, no..." Micah huffed his protest even as he arched upward into that wet heat that engulfed him. Masters didn't pleasure their slaves, didn't care about reciprocation. Slaves were vessels to be used, not bed parters and surely Joe's father wouldn't approve. "Not here..."

Joe pushed Micah's hands away and his fingers clamped down on Micah's hips, stilling him as he continued work him with his mouth. Micah tried to mute the sounds of his own pleasure and whimpered softly as he thrashed on the bedspread, but the longer Joe went on, the more difficult it was. 

Micah's hands threaded into Joe's hair and he smeared it over his belly. "Ah, ahh, yes, yes!" His back arched off of the mattress and his toes curled as his orgasm overtook him.

Suddenly, the door unmatched and swung open. Micah's eyes snapped open and the floaty blissful feeling was replaced with terror. The slave at the door met his gaze for a moment before diverting. "My apologies, I knocked, I thought you said to come in. I'll just leave this here..." he crossed and placed the breakfast tray on the table beside Micah's head. Micah closed his eyes and willed the mattress to swallow him up.

Joe sat up, casually wiping his mouth on his arm and tugging the blankets over Micah's crotch. "It's fine. Thank you."

The slave bowed and departed, closing the door behind him. Joe got up and moved beside Micah's head, stroking him absently with one hand and lifting the lid covering the plates with the other. "I rang for breakfast after I called for you. I didn't know what you wanted, but it must be nice not to have to cook for once. Do you want pancakes and eggs? Fruit and cereal?"

Micah hid beneath his crossed arms and didn't say anything. Joe jostled him playfully. "Oh come on, is this the first time you've been walked in on? Eat with me, sweetheart."

"I can't," Micah whispered, pushing away the blankets and crawling off the other side of the bed. He trembled as he turned his the arms and legs of his tunic and leggings the right way and pulled them back on.

"Don't be so uptight," Joe laughed before stuffing half of a rolled up pancake in his mouth.

"Yes Sir, I'm sorry, Sir..." Micah moved to kneel at Joe's feet.

"Oh, this again," Joe sighed and pet Micah. "You worry too much about what other people think.

"Self preservation, Sir," Micah murmured.

"Bullshit," Joe said and traced the pancake roll around Micah's lips until he had no choice but to open his mouth and accept a bite. "I take care of you. The only one you gotta answer to is me."

If only it were that simple.


	8. Chapter 8

Joe took his time getting ready that morning, lingering over breakfast in a way that was unusual for him, even on the rare occasions that he didn't have a project in the shop to rush off to. He pulled Micah into the shower and lazily soaped them both, then took his time teasing Micah to the point of begging. Finally, they returned to the bed and and although they made proper use of the lubricant that Micah had packed the day before, he was thoroughly, deliciously sore afterward.

It was late morning when they made their way downstairs and one of the household slaves relayed that the masters of the house had gone to the back green. Joe helped himself to a handful of grapes from the kitchen table that Micah was fairly certain had been for decoration and then led the way, out the back door. Micah kept up with Joe's longer strides despite the deep seated ache in his backside but as they neared the pond that the men were smoking beside, Joe slowed to a stop. Cobb met them and exchanged words too quietly for Micah to hear, despite being only a few feet away.

“Micah, go with Cobb,” Joe gestured toward him.

Reluctance washed through Micah and he felt his jaw set petulantly. He could see Ellis at Tanner's side and a slave called Prim accompanied Richard. There were three other Freemen that Micah didn't know and each of them had a slave of his own in attendance. It reflected poorly in him for being sent away in company for the second time in as many days.

“Go,” Joe said again even though Micah hadn't uttered a single word of defiance.

“Yes, Sir...” Miicah flushed as he bowed and then stepped sideways, toward Cobb’s outstretched arm. 

Joe fished a cigarette from a pack in his pocket and lit it before continuing toward the men and Micah turned, hurrying after Cobb with an awkward gait.

“When was the last time you worked a formal dinner?” Cobb asked when they were closer to the house.

“Years,” Micah answered vaguely, his forehead crinkling as he tried to recall the last time Willard has hosted such an affair.

“I noticed you didn't pack any dinner garb,” Cobb went on without waiting for the details. “We have a spare set, it will need tailoring. I'll give you a refresher and you can help me ready the verandah for lunch.”

“Why can't I attend Joe?” Micah blurted suddenly.

Cobb stopped, affixed him with a stern look, then pulled him through the service entrance in the kitchen and into the narrow stairwell. “You cannot attend Master Joseph because he commands it as such. I understand the nature of your relationship is unconventional, but here, you will fit in. You must, if you expect to continue in any capacity. Now compose yourself and behave in a manner befitting your age and station.”

Micah hadn't been on the receiving end of such a dressing down since he'd been released from the holding facility. Immediately, his ears began to burn and the flush worked it's way over his face and down his chest. “I'm sorry,” Micah's throat was so tight that he could hardly force out the whisper as he held back tears.

“That's enough,” Cobb sighed and squeezed Micah’s shoulder. “Pretty tears lost their charm on me ages ago. Dry yourself up and come on, we've got a lot of work to do.”

In the laundry beside the common room, various sizes and styles of tunics and slave garb were kept and Cobb stood back, counting what was needed for his own staff before reaching for a set of dinner whites; white linen shirts with pleats at the collar to be worn beneath a buttonless jacket and fitted pants meant to grace the tops of house shoes. He found one of the laundresses and left Micah in her care while he went back to the service garden to choose arrangements for the upcoming meals.

With more than slight reluctance, Micah disrobed and donned the dinner whites, then stood on a chair so the girl could pin them.

“Everyone is talking about you,” Mercy said around a mouthful of pins.

“Oh?” Congenial conversation was not Micah’s forte, especially when he was perilously close to being treated as a pincushion. Still, he needed to hear what rumors were swirling about after the morning's indiscretion. “And what are they saying?”

Mercy glanced up at him, her cheeks pink. Perhaps she thought he'd have more decorum than to ask. “That you take advantage of Master Joseph.”

Micah couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of him. “Nobody takes advantage of my Master. Surely they have to know that.”

A small smile played on her face before she ducked her head and reached between his legs to gather the inseam. “He has always been unconventional,” Mercy allowed. “Some of the whispers are, perhaps, jealousy. But no rumours are without foundation.”

“We all exist to please our Masters...” Micah tried to explain himself. It was exactly as he'd tried to explain to Joe all along. “I follow his direction and I act in accordance to his expectations. My Master is not a weak man. Unconventional, yes. But not weak. He does what he wants, when he wants, and I am just as helpless to guide his whims as you are to Master Richard's.”

“That may be true,” Mercy mused.”Many of the house slaves are knew, but some of us remember him as a boy. It was not so long ago that he came of age and rejected Ellis, a gift from his father. Those of us who were here for that incident were surprised to hear of you at all.” Mercy folded up Micah’s left pant leg and started to pin the hem.

After a minute, Micah asked, “Ellis was a gift to my Master for coming of age? But he belongs to Master Tanner now?”

“Oh!” Mercy startled and stuck her finger in her mouth, then glanced up at Micah. After scrutinizing her fingertip, she replied, “Ellis has always been difficult but Master Joseph was reluctant to keep him in line. He and Master Richard argued about it for weeks until the Master Joseph said he didn't want him anymore, that he didn't believe in owning another human being. It wasn't that much of a shock to most of us at the time, Master Joseph always was the nicest out of any of them. Spend hours just talking to you if he had the chance. Never asked you to do anything for him, except maybe fetch him a sandwich.” Mercy folded the hem down and checked the length, then moved on to the right leg. “Master Richard got angry and gave Ellis to Young Master Tanner instead, and Master Joseph left after that.”

Micah swallowed thickly. It was no wonder that Ellis harbored such animosity toward him - he'd been refuted by Joe and replaced with an older, uglier, model who seemed to be reaping all of the rewards and none of the repercussions he himself had faced. 

“Ellis must have been crushed,” Micah said softly.

Mercy looked up at him once more, shook her head, and placed the final pins in his hem. “You have no idea.”


End file.
